Battlebrand
by Miss Guinevere
Summary: Did you ever wonder how Drogyn and Hamilton knew each other as seen in Angel S5 Power Play? I did...
1. Chapter 1

Title: Battlebrand  
Author: Miss Guinevere  
Rating: PG-13... there's some violence.  
Summary: Did you ever wonder how Drogyn and Hamilton met? I did...  
Disclaimer:Unfortunately I do not own either one of them. If I did, there would be chocolate, strawberries... maybe even some whipped cream. But I don't.  
A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta Tanya! hugs

**Battlebrand**

_Prologue_

_795 - Fortrenn, Alba (Scotland)_

These are troubled times. Many threats endanger mankind -- men, women and children alike. Tribes wage bloody battles against each other for supremacy over the most fertile areas of the land. A man can get beaten down by brigands, killed only for the clothes he is wearing. Rogues travel across this land and hide themselves like cowards in the vast forests that cover the hills of our homeland. They come out at night, raping, pillaging and murdering for their amusement only. The land is victim to chaos. Kings do not care about these people. Knights do not enter this territory to seek justice and protect the innocent. The people of our land are alone in this ordeal.

This is why we fight. This is why we ride through the country, searching out those in need of assistance and ridding them of the evil that plagues them.

As sons of the Picts, from the desolate lands north of the river Clyde, we learned to fight at an early age. Marcus was born to the Garthnait clan in the same year that I, Drogyn, was born to the Wredech clan. The village of Fortrenn was our home. The Garthnaits and the Wredechs were both part of the Denbecan tribe and therefore we grew up together. We were but children when it became clear that Marcus and I were destined for greater purposes. We were both blessed with remarkable strength and agility and as such we soon became feared among the tribes that fought our own.

Marcus is a great man in all aspects. He stands much taller than I do and his build strikes fear in the hearts of all men. In contrast to his appearance, he has a kind and pure heart. He is rash where I am thoughtful. He acts where I think. I trust him when my back is turned and will protect him with my life if need be. Marcus and I are not bound by blood but I hold him a brother. He is my ally in our battle against the dangers of our time.

"Marcus! There," I point out to my friend. He follows my gaze to a clearing up ahead where we see what appear to be druids struggling for their lives. Druids are few and far between in this age. Christianity has spread throughout the country, even as far north as we are now. At this time Christians are not tolerant of the Old Religions. By brute force they beat down anyone involved in ancient rituals, and this is what we are witnessing now.

Marcus spurs his horse on and I follow. Riding fast, I count at least two dozen men slaughtering four druids. Two of the priests are already down. The odds are against us but we have come up against worse. We dismount our horses and enter the fray. From the corner of my eye I see Marcus unsheathing his broadsword and taking down two attackers in one sweep. Reassured by his brazenness I set aside caution and wield a mace with my left hand, dagger in my right hand. Soon all I can hear is the sound of our weapons cleaving flesh and the thud of my mace connecting with bone.

I hear Marcus roar above the din of the struggle. A glance in his direction tells me he has suffered a hit to his chest, but it is not halting his vigor. From where I stand, the wound does not look fatal, but I feel the wrath rising in me and it causes me to assault our opponents with heightened force. By now, we have taken down more than half of the Christians.

Suddenly, I feel a sword go through me from behind, just below my heart. Incredulous, I look over my shoulder and see my attacker's triumphant face just before Marcus severs his head. He rushes to my side, fending off the others with his sword while he examines my wound. The look on his face tells me this wound might be deadly. I feel myself slipping away while Marcus turns around and releases the force of his fury on the men that are still standing. I have always admired his sword fighting skills and while I struggle to remain conscious, this is what I focus on.

Marcus has defeated all men but one when he turns back to me to verify whether I am still alive. Marcus always acts on feelings rather than reason, and his impulsiveness is what earns him a blow to the head that I suspect will be mortal. While he falls to the ground, he thrusts his sword in the chest of the one remaining man. With my last strength, I crawl towards him and cradle his head in my arms. Blood is running down his temple and pours out of his mouth. His breathing is laboured and irregular. I know we will not be long for this world. I feel his life force slipping away and I am not in better shape. I can form only one coherent thought before darkness captures me.

_I should have protected Marcus. My brother. _

_Part two coming soon..._


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Battlebrand  
Author: Miss Guinevere  
Rating: PG-13 for violence  
Summary: This is how Drogyn and Hamilton met... at least in my mind.  
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, never will.  
A/N: Thanks to Tan for beta-ing!

_Part Two_

Distant voices sound through the haze in my mind. My chest throbs with pain and I long to surrender myself to eternity. Still something tugs at me, prying me from the arms of sweet oblivion. Darkness recedes and the world beyond my closed eyelids is bathing in light.

Reluctantly I force myself to open my eyes. Immediately I narrow them to slits because of the bright light surrounding us. I can make out three shapes that are standing over us. When my eyes grow accustomed to the blazing radiance, I see that two of them are the druids we attempted to rescue from their attackers. The other figure is the source of the light, shining brightly upon us. Next to me, I feel Marcus stir. Gratitude engulfs me for a moment when I realize that Marcus has not died.

I realize the druids are talking and I try to focus my thoughts enough to listen. They are talking about Marcus and I, that much is clear. It seems that they notice that my eyes are open and Marcus is on his way to regaining consciousness, because they stop talking and turn to us. With the utmost exertion, I shift my head so as to look at my brother. He is awake and his hand searches for mine. I understand his need for physical contact and indulge him. Marcus has always needed physical touch more than I have. At this time however, being in this situation and not knowing what is happening is enough to make even me crave the comfort that a human touch can bring. He grips my hand and increases pressure when one of the druids addresses us.

"Heroes," the man speaks solemnly. "Giving their lives for the benefit of others."

The light dims and the third figure steps out of it. It is a woman of great fairness. She is translucent, wearing nothing but a white gown. Her raven black hair falls in waves to her waist. She floats above the ground and at this point I am certain we have passed on and reached that of which many myths speak: Avalon.

When she speaks it is as if the trees whisper to us, as if the wind forms words in our heads.

"As brothers you have fought to protect mine. As brothers you will be restored and granted eternity. You will be Battlebrands. Warriors. Travel with mine and you will be taught."

The woman bends over Marcus and touches the wound on his head. He stares up at her in shock and awe. I am certain my own face reflects his emotions as she floats over to me and places her hand over my throbbing wound. As though by magic, the pain disappears. Marcus and I try to sit up and we are both surprised to find we are without any discomfort. Looking up at the woman, we see a serene smile tugging at her lips. While we watch her, she disappears back into the light, prompting the druids to assist us in standing up.

The men escort us to our horses and hold the bridles while we mount, although we assure them this is not necessary. By now we feel unusually strong and healthy. The druids insist that we should join them on their travel further north. Marcus and I exchange a glance. We are aware of the dangers that lurk along their way. Nodding, we give in.

During our journey, it dawns on me that we have been in an odd situation. I confront the druids with this notion and they half-heartedly explain what has happened to us. It seems that the druids were performing rituals to call on their goddess Eanfrith when the Christians attacked. Two druids were murdered before Marcus and I arrived, but not before Eanfrith appeared. The goddess had been witness to our attempt to salvage the two others. The druids speak of a reward that Eanfrith would grant us. This shakes Marcus from his thoughts.

"We do not desire a reward," Marcus tells them gruffly, and I nod my head to indicate that I agree with my brother.

The druids smile serenely. "It has already been granted. Such are heroes, always refusing tokens of gratitude for acts of heroism."

I can see that being referred to as a hero unsettles my brother. To be fair, it unnerves me as well, but for a different reason. Marcus is completely void of any vanity, and considers our acts a sacred duty. I, on the other hand, have always been aware of the image we create in the minds of people, and I have always been afraid that this image will someday haunt us. I fear that this might be that day. There is nothing else to do but ask.

"What is this reward you speak of?" I ask the druid riding to my left, slightly vexed.

"Come with us to Fidaich," the man implores. "All will be explained in Fidaich."

Marcus lays a calming hand on my arm. I know my brother well enough to know that he is tired and wishes to rest. The druid village will provide that opportunity. I nod my consent and silence comes over us.

We ride together for what seems like hours. Marcus attempts to gain further information from the druids but his endeavors are fruitless. They are taciturn men. After a while, my brother admits defeat and lets his horse fall back to join me in the rear.

When the sun sets over the hills and we enter a dense, dark forest, one of the druids finally speaks up again. "Soon, all will be clear," he assures us.

After a small amount of time we arrive at a primitive settlement in the middle of the forest. It is surrounded with pointed wooden poles, set together and driven into the ground to form a protective fence around the village. The gate is open and as we ride through it, I see dozens of men standing in front of what appears to be a temple. By the looks of them, not all of the men are druids and I can even distinguish some women.

The druids dismount and gesture for us to do the same. A man approaches us, standing almost as tall as Marcus. He is wearing a peasant's clothes, although his posture indicates that he is a man of considerable status.

"Welcome, heroes," the man addresses us. "I am Ainel. We have been expecting you."

Marcus and I introduce ourselves. We are captivated by Ainel's presence. He is a charismatic man and he seems to radiate light and kindness. Ainel invites us to rest in his quarters. We accept his generous offer, grateful to be resting on beds instead of the hard ground we are used to. He points us to our beds. When I open my mouth to ask for the explanation the druids promised us, it is as though he senses my thoughts and he silences me with an understanding look. "Please. Tomorrow," he whispers, then turns and leaves.

Marcus is asleep in a matter of minutes. His steady breathing calms me somewhat and I vow to myself that I will keep him safe no matter what. To do that I must discover why death hasn't claimed us as it should have done.

Soon, I too am asleep.

The next day brings us a great surprise. Ainel is present when we awaken, and after he has offered us a meal, he sits us down and explains all.

Marcus and I have become Battlebrands, immortals. Demon banes and truth-sayers. Eanfrith has granted us a new destiny, which enables us to battle demons and men alike. Ainel speaks of an age that existed before the dawn of our time, when Eanfrith was a powerful being. Her army consisted of Battlebrands, and she has deemed us worthy to carry on her tradition. From now on, we are immortal. Beheading is the only thing that will kill us. Our purpose is to protect the innocent from evil-doers. As long as we are Battlebrands, we are not able to tell a lie. This does not concern us in the least. We have never lied, nor do we feel a need to do so in the future.

Ainel regales us with the history of Battlebrands. He speaks softly and carefully, as though he fears a wrongly chosen word might chase us away. Once Eanfrith commanded vast legions of Battlebrands. Beings, envious of her power, set upon her and destroyed her army of warriors. All but one. Ainel was not present at that battle, and so he is the sole survivor of the onslaught. Ainel's destiny was to educate Battlebrands in strategy and fighting skills, and as such he was far too valuable to engage in combat. Ainel did not expect to ever train Battlebrands again until Eanfrith appeared before him the previous day and spoke of two heroes.

After he has finished his tale, he is silent for a moment. Then he speaks again, "It would be my honour to be your teacher."

Quite comfortable with our new destinies, we accept his offer.

For years and years we live in Fidaich. We are treated well by the villagers and we complete the Battlebrand training. Ainel teaches us well. We come to understand that he too is immortal and we look up to him as a mentor. He is a wise man, and we value his words.

Now it's time to fulfill our destiny. Marcus and I set out into the world.

_877 - Iona, Alba (Scotland)_

Although Marcus and I are warriors, Ainel has taught us other worthy lessons. We know a code of honour and law is more valuable than a hundred victories on the battlefield. Even as we know this, we also know that the sword sometimes must prepare the way for such a code.

Scotland does not lack warriors, or so it seems from the incessant ring of clashing arms. Kenneth MacAlpin has long passed away and his successors do not succeed in retaining the relative prosperity his reign has brought. Where the sword is busy, diligence rests. Acres of crops perish instead of flourishing; wild boars and wolves reclaim the cultured fields that once were wilderness. Our homeland has relapsed into the chaos that reigned a century ago. This is why a battle must be fought to unite Scotland under one King. The Picts and the Scots must be joined in a common cause, for there is a greater danger that threatens our land. This danger is what Marcus and I foresee and set out to defeat. We cannot do this alone, and a year passes before both the Picts and the Scots are convinced that there is a greater goal than fighting amongst each other. King Constantin, direct descendant of Kenneth, is offered the throne and commands both under one flag. Still, there is mutiny in the ranks and a strict hand is needed.

We have just finished putting together a vast, but unruly and rugged army when strange and swift ships appear off the coast. They strike terror in the hearts of those dwelling in coastal villages, and it does not take long for these tidings to reach us. By then, the pillaging has already begun. They are Vikings, cruel and merciless in their slaughter and burning everything in their path. Plundering the coastal settlements and raping and murdering men, women and children alike, these beasts make their bloody way across our land.

Marcus and I lead our army to follow our king Constantin to Iona. The Vikings have wreaked unholy havoc on the village, slaughtering the monks and villagers and burning the remnants of houses and cattle. This scene unfolds before our eyes when we approach Iona. The barbarians are hauling women off to their ships upon our arrival within the village walls. We manage to slay the several dozens of Vikings in the village with considerable ease.

Still, my brother looks as concerned as I feel. We sense something else, something far more ominous coming our way. It takes mere hours before we are proven right. Countless hundreds, maybe thousands of Viking men surround us and attack. Marcus and I take the vanguard and hack our way through the thick wall of men. The mutiny within our army proves fatal however and a legion of soldiers deserts, leaving their comrades disheartened. The Vikings take advantage of this and a dozen of them seize the brave king Constantin while he is fighting amidst his rapidly diminishing ranks.

Too late Marcus and I see through their scheme, and the king is being dragged off to the rocks west of the village. Marcus gestures for me to follow and try and relieve our king. Even though I ride at a gallop, it takes me too long to make my way through the din, and when I arrive at the scene Constantin lays bleeding and dead. I make short work of his brutal murderers and I am satisfied to see the fear in their eyes before I strike them down. Riding back, I oversee the battlefield. Thousands of men lay slain like our king. The losses are immense on both sides, but because of the death of Constantin, the battle is theirs.

This is our first defeat since becoming Battlebrands; but it is not the defeat in itself that stings us. We have led thousands of men into death and most of these men had families. We are the cause of much suffering and sorrow; widows and orphans cry because of us. For the people of Scotland, the after effects of Iona are favourable, thus easing the pain of losing so many men somewhat. Since then, the Vikings never set foot upon Scottish soil again and fighting a common foe finally united the Picts and the Scots into one consistent nation.

Marcus and I stay for a while to ensure the installment of Eth, Constantin's brother, as king. This brave man had been present in the battle at Iona. When the king fell, Eth took command over the legions, rallied the broken ranks and led them off the field. We are sure he will prove a good king.

Eanfrith appears to us the night of the crowning ceremony. We are needed elsewhere.

_1513 - Flodden, Alba (Scotland)_

For eight centuries we have roamed through England and Europe, protecting the innocent and defeating evil. Finally, after three hundred years, we have come back to our home country, Scotland. It has changed in many aspects, but the battles are fierce as always. At this time, we sometimes grow weary of the fight. Marcus and I have come to understand that there are not only advantages to our destiny as Battlebrands.

Along with the strength, skill and near invulnerability comes a great responsibility that weighs heavy on our limbs. We have never again experienced a defeat as painful as that fateful battle in Iona, but we have lost men nonetheless, sometimes friends. Our families are long dead. There is no rest for us, no peace. After every fight comes another one, and then another. We cannot win them all; we have to accept that fact. Still, we must continue our struggle against evil. Marcus and I have embarked on this quest driven by the optimism of our youth, convinced that we were able to deliver at least a weakening blow to the face of evil on this Earth. After so many centuries of waging war against darkness, we have found that it never grows weaker. It might lay low, but it is ever present.

Being back in Scotland provides us with the opportunity to visit Ainel. Because of our waning vigour, we decide to request his advice on our state of mind. He welcomes us warmly, and we are invited to stay for some days.

It is on the last of these days that Ainel speaks the words that strengthen our faith. During a walk in the forest surrounding Fidaich, Marcus brings up our crumbling conviction. Ainel nods and does not speak for several minutes. When he does, his pensive voice tugs at our hearts and disposes of the grey cloud that darkens our outlook.

"Evil does not fade. It was, is and always will be. Our destinies are to bring order and balance to the world. For every single thing has been written in stone hundreds upon thousands of years ago. Our actions are not of any significance in the grand scheme of things. Therefore, nothing bears any importance save for our actions. Our decisions, our deeds are the only things that are able to make a difference, however small."

Ainel's words have the ring of truth about them. I feel hope blossoming in my chest yet again and Marcus' eyes tell me he too feels the fire of justice burning strong. As one man we turn to Ainel and ask for a new task. We are needed at Flodden, where the aftermath of a bloody battle is holding the villagers in its cruel grasp. Bands of thieves and murderers attack the ruined villages. Much like those dreaded Vikings did seven centuries ago, these villains rape and murder and set fire to houses and livestock. But unlike the Vikings, these bastards take their time and amuse themselves with the innocent people of Flodden.

Two days separate Flodden from Fidaich. During our journey Marcus and I speak sparsely. We have renewed our vigour and we are already laying out a strategy in our minds. Approaching Flodden, we confer and decide we will split up and attack the pillagers from two sides. Marcus takes the south and I will ride in from the north.

As I watch my brother's retreating form I think about our immortality. Even though I am inspired by the notion of a great purpose I cannot help but contemplate which path our lives would have chosen, had we not fought for good. Guilt weighs on me for I know Marcus has never thought any such thing. Determinedly I erase these thoughts from my mind and I prepare for the fight.

I have taken down two score men when I see Marcus fighting across the village square. He swings his sword gracefully and it is obvious that his newfound conviction grants him even more strength. My focus has strayed from my own fight to Marcus, and this is what earns me a sword through my chest. This wound would kill a mortal in mere seconds, but my immortality leaves me standing, albeit shakily. The pain is excruciating, and I realize this is the first time since Eanfrith bestowed our new destiny upon us that I have been severely wounded.

Attempting to ignore the pain, I fight on. Before my mind's eye, I see the vile deeds perpetrated by these villains and I am struck with the sudden belief that Marcus and I are maintaining balance within the world. Ours are the acts that make a difference. Small it may be, but not so for the ones we protect today. In their hearts this day will live on as the day they were relieved from the brutal savagery they were subject to. As this thought enters my mind, I feel the pain diminishing. With strength I have not felt in centuries I fight on for every soul I can save.

_1737 - Galway, Ireland_

Because of prosperous trading activities, Galway is a heavily beset village. More often than not the villagers have fallen victim to bands of brigands, led by a man named Brude. Since several months, this is our home. Without us, the village would be ransacked and burned to the ground. It is up to us to strike fear in the hearts of these villains, enough so that they will cease their attempts. Unfortunately, the brigands are beginning to understand we are protecting this village and they are undoubtedly plotting against us. We cannot stay forever, we need to find a way for the villagers to protect themselves.

A month ago, we have instructed the villagers to construct a man-sized stone wall around the village. On top of this wall, battlements will be built from where archers can shoot their deadly arrows without being seen by those who besiege the village. Marcus and I have started to train every able soul in the village. Men and women alike, every one who can hold a sword or use a bow and arrow is taught to fight. In addition to this, Marcus and I have taken to teaching the children of Galway the principles of battle. Naturally, we steer clear of using swords and other weaponry. We feel strongly about teaching them fighting skills, because we know the time will come when they will need to be able fighters. However, most of the time training the children is spent sitting around a fire, telling them stories of battles won in the days of yore.

Marcus loves children. Were it not for his destiny, he would have taken himself a wife and family. As it is now, that is not possible. That is why he settles for teaching these children everything he knows about strategy and battle. There are two children in particular that he has a great affection for and I am no different. Both are boys of ten years old. Marcus has told me on several occasions that he thinks these boys have greater purposes, and remind him of our youth. They show an aptitude for all forms of combat. Liam is the brawny child, ever inclined to pull pranks and act up. Still, he has a gentle heart and he looks up to us as though we are his heroes. The other child, an orphan named Aidan, is meek but brave. The two boys are never without each other, much like Marcus and I were centuries ago.

As the weeks pass by, we grow closer to these two children. Marcus appreciates the quiet, thoughtful nature of Aidan, and assumes the role of his father. I find myself drawn to Liam's brazenness. I suspect I recognize a young Marcus in the little boy. Many evenings are spent with the children, teaching the art of fighting or telling ghost stories.

Until a fateful day.

We receive a message from Fidaich. Only Ainel, being immortal, is alive at this time, but the village is still dear to us. The origin of our life journey lies there. The words we read are Ainel's, asking us to waste no time in travelling back to Scotland. Marcus is not pleased, but he too understands why one of us should shield Eanfrith's heritage from violence. It is soon decided that I am to go to Fidaich and Marcus will continue to protect Galway from Brude's men. Thus, I say my goodbyes to the children and I embrace my brother. I plan to return in a few months.

I am but a day underway when a vision appears to me. It is Eanfrith. She speaks of a great danger threatening Marcus and the village of Galway, and then disappears again. For a short time, I do not know what to do. My loyalty lies with my brother, but my assistance has been requested by Ainel, our mentor. With great mental exertion, I call upon Eanfrith. She re-appears and hears my plea. I ask her to inform Ainel that my arrival in Fidaich will be delayed, for I shall rush to my brother's side. She nods curtly and while she diffuses into the landscape, it is disconcerting to me that she does not speak.

I ride like the wind back to Galway. My horse is worn out by the time I reach the village. Relief floods me when I see Marcus standing amidst a crowd of people, but it is soon replaced with fear as he looks up. The sight of his grief chills me and his words shake me to my core.

"They took Aidan."

Once I have composed myself, Marcus continues to explain what happened in my absence. It seems as though Brude and his men have waited for one of us to leave the village to carry out their scheme. They have lain in wait and seized Aidan when the child ventured outside the village walls, after having been challenged to do so by Liam. Brude has left behind a message for Marcus, and this message is what distresses us the most.

Brude offers a trade. Aidan's life for leaving the village without our protection. Should we decide not to leave Galway, Aidan dies. If we decide to leave to save the boy's life, most of the villagers will die. We are overcome with grief, for we know which decision we have to make. I am worried how Marcus will cope with this, since the boy was as a son to him.

Not an hour after I send Brude word of our decision, Aidan's small and limp frame is deposited in front of the village gate by Brude himself. I hear a muffled cry and when I turn back to face Marcus, his eyes have gone empty. Liam runs up to me and clutches my leg in his little arms. I shield his eyes from the sight of his best friend's body, and by doing this I provide my brother with the opportunity he waits for. I am occupied with comforting Liam and therefore react too slow to prevent Marcus from reaching his horse.

Furious, Marcus rides towards the hordes of brigands laying low in the forest. I usher the child to his mother and mount my horse. I cannot let my brother commit suicide. Not without me by his side.

I follow the sounds of combat until I reach the fight. These are odds we have never seen. There must be over a hundred men, all armed to the teeth. In a fleeting moment I take pride in the fact that they have not dared to trespass on our territory. The knowledge that we are fierce adversaries, combined with the loss of Aidan, sets fire to the rage inside me. I join Marcus in the fray. Quickly glancing around I see that he has already disposed of dozens of men. Marcus does not acknowledge my presence, and I do not know if he realizes I am there. Still, I stab and strike until there is no man left standing. It is a bitter fight, tainted with the blood of an innocent boy.

As I am battling the last of the brigands, I look around in search for Marcus. Finally my eyes find him, his face expressionless. He forces Brude to his knees with his broadsword, then tosses his sword to the side. I can tell he wants to end this bastard's life with his bare hands. Taking a blow to my shoulder, I focus on my opponent. By the time I have killed him, Marcus stands still, staring at his bloody hands. In a feeble attempt at comfort, I go to him and lay a hand on his arm. He shakes it off and looks away, then turns on his heel and storms off.

I stand for what seems like hours until Eanfrith appears before me. She does not need to speak. I have read it in my brother's eyes.

_I have lost him._

Numb, I ride back to the village. I refuse to talk to anyone but Liam, who might not understand but acts like he does. The boy falls asleep on my shoulder. I press a soft kiss to his small head and I leave that same night.

_Part three coming soon..._


	3. Chapter 3

_1753 - Rome, Italy_

For ten years, I have searched for Marcus. Eanfrith had ordered me not to, and for six years I obeyed her command. By then, the pain of being cut off from my brother became unbearable. Searching for him lessens the pain somewhat, because it gives me purpose. Purpose I have been missing since Marcus was lost to me.

I have found him and I am deeply troubled by the knowledge how far he has fallen. He is employed as a mercenary for a demon congregation. Never would I have thought that my brother would have swayed from the just path. It is understandable though, his destiny as a Battlebrand has caused him so much pain that he wishes to shield himself from that. I understand his decision, but that does in no way mean I will resign to it. Thus, I keep an eye on him from a distance. I hope against all hope that one day I will be able to burst through the dark walls that hide his heart from me. However, this is not the right time. For immortals, time travels faster and wounds of the soul heal slower. The loss of Aidan is still too fresh and he will not be able to hear my words for what they are.

For sixteen years, I have not returned to Galway. The village is burdened with memories that are too hard to bear. Although I miss Liam, I have not been able to force myself to visit. From time to time a message arrives from Galway, informing me of new developments and reminding me of my failure as a protector to both my brother and the village. In a vain attempt to put some distance between those memories and myself, I have travelled onto the mainland. Italy is as crowded with evil as any country, and I make myself useful by ridding innocents of demon infestations.

This is where horrible tidings reach me.

Galway has fallen prey to a mass murderer, destroying the families I knew so well. I almost do not dare to read further, afraid that the letter will tell me that Liam is no longer alive. It does, albeit his fate is even worse than I had feared. Liam has become a vampire, and is solely responsible for the murder of his friends and family. He now goes by the name of Angelus.

My faith wavers. I have lost the three souls most dear to me to evil. I am alone. Must I continue to fight? The desire to give up my struggle and join my brother overwhelms me. But will I be able to deny my conscience? Will I be capable of committing vile acts against the innocents I swore to protect? Can I defy my nature to indulge in my longing to join forces with my brother?

I do not know. For the first time in my eternal life, I cry bitter tears. I weep for the loss of the innocent children Aidan and Liam were and I weep because of the emptiness that surrounds me since I estranged Marcus.

_1898 - Paris, France_

I think about the ghastly events in Galway every day of my eternal life. Each time I consider what I could have done differently. Perhaps I could have acted more rashly, more like Marcus. I should not have hesitated and should have left those asking for my protection to fend for themselves. I should have rushed to my brother's aid, thus taking the villains by surprise. Maybe I could have saved the child before death claimed it. Before darkness claimed Marcus. Guilt eats at me for placing my brother above the child I too loved. But the child is at peace, and the loss of my brother to evil is still gnawing on me. He is alive, but with every day that passes he is further beyond my reach. Still, I have to believe that we shall meet again and I shall be able to reach inside his heart.

Now and then, I can't help but wonder if our decision was ultimately the right one. How many men have died because of Marcus' reversion to darkness? How many men could we have saved if Marcus had only fought for good instead of evil? Does that number balance the number of people that would have been murdered in Galway, if we had chosen for the child to live? There is no way to find out. I have to live with the knowledge that another decision could have saved Aidan's life, could have kept Marcus from reverting and could ultimately have shielded Liam from a fate worse than death, thereby also protecting the hundreds of lives Liam has taken and is yet to take as a vampire.

My reputation as truth-sayer precedes me everywhere I go. Because of my inability to lie, demons and men alike find I am trustworthy and so they confide in me. In the years I have spent in Paris, I have acquired a circle around me consisting of confidants. Some of them men of questionable virtue, some of them demons; all of them aware of the fact that I am able to shred them in mere seconds. As long as they do not turn on me, they are under my protection. I realize this truce casts a slur upon my purpose, the pureness of it tainted by cooperation with evil creatures, but this circle allows me to keep an eye on Marcus and the vampire Angelus.

Through them, I receive word of an exceptional event in Rumania. One of my confidants is adamant that Angelus has been cursed with a soul. It appears that he had been feeding on a Gypsy girl, which did not please the elders of her clan. A spell was cast to return Angelus' soul to him. I am both elated and saddened. I am filled with joy because this signifies the return of Liam to this world, but I feel sorrow because Liam will be subject to so much suffering. He will relive the torment Angelus inflicted on his victims and the faces of those Angelus killed will haunt him forever.

I long to speak to Liam and offer him comfort, but I know it is too soon for us to meet. Liam will not yet be able to truly accept the return of his conscience and will try to adjust his soul to the evil ways of his breed. His soul cannot allow this and as a consequence he will be driven to the brink of insanity by the horrific deeds his evil counterpart committed.

I must wait.

_1935 - New York City, America_

I have travelled to the New World to seek out Liam. The time has come for me to try and offer my help in accepting his new destiny. I am not a wise man, but I carry the wisdom of others.

I find him in an alley. He is filthy and reeks of death, the way vampires do when starving. It is clear that he has not fed on a human being since he has been ensouled. Liam is startled by my sudden appearance and I can see he thinks I am but a figment of his emaciated brain.

"Liam," I speak up.

He narrows his eyes and grates, "Angel." I do not understand him.

"Liam," I repeat, pleadingly. Watching him closely, I see him curl his lips in a feral growl. I know he will attack even before the thought enters his mind. Easily sidestepping his lunge I lash out with my left arm and he crashes to the ground. I pick him up by the lapels of his jacket and keep him at an arm's length, suspended in the air. As a boy, he had great respect for Marcus and myself and I see this respect slowly returning to his eyes.

"You will listen to me, Liam," I tell him, as though I were talking to the child he once was. "You will come with me and you will listen." He nods and I release him from my hold.

Without further delays, we reach my accommodations. Liam seats himself in the wooden chair opposite the bed. I set to pacing in front of him, considering adequate ways to broach my views on his situation. Reaching a decision, I halt and face him.

I tell him about Marcus and how Marcus lost sight of his mission. I speak of my desire to once again join forces with my brother, even though that would mean reverting to darkness. But most of all, I speak of honour, pureness and purpose, the three things Marcus embodied before his ordeal.

Liam is defiant, I can tell. Years of remembering Angelus' vile acts and wandering in dark alleys have affected his judgement, and he is not certain of the truth behind my words.

"Heard that before. Not the first one trying to get me to fight for good," he croaks, voicing my suspicions.

"Surely, my words must carry more weight for you than those of others," I admonish him. "Do you not remember your youth?"

"Yeah, great hero you were, walking out on me," Liam whispers, thinking my hearing is not sensitive enough to overhear him. He is wrong.

"Leaving Galway pained me more than I can tell you, Liam. I could not stay, not without Marcus," I attempt to make him understand.

"Liar," he spits out. I lose my patience. This boy knows what I am and still he does not believe my words.

"I am a Battlebrand, boy. Truth-sayer and demon bane. Lies do not leave my mouth," I lower my voice threateningly. I see understanding dawning on Liam's face. His defiance ebbs away and his shoulders sag. Forcefully, I refrain myself from putting a consoling hand on his back. This is something he has to come to terms with on his own. After a while he looks up at me.

"I can't change anything. It's all pre-destined. It's no use, we can never beat them all," he speaks in a soft voice. Ainel's words come rushing back to me.

"Hear me, Liam. Your soul was returned to you, a miracle that has never before occurred. You have a new destiny, just as Marcus and I had so many centuries ago. Evil will always be present, but it is our purpose to fight it." Speaking Marcus' name to someone who knew him stings me, but I continue. "It _is_ all written in stone, and our acts do not change the order of things. Therefore, nothing matters save for our actions. Do you understand, boy?"

Liam is silent for a while. He lifts his head up at me and I see the child he once was in his eyes. He looks lost and full of sorrow and I regret that I cannot offer him anything but my advice. "Do you, Liam?" I softly ask.

"I do," he chokes the words out. "But I'm not Liam anymore. I'm a vampire. Liam is dead. My name is Angel."

The words shock me but I understand his reasoning. Although he will always be Liam to me, I give in to him. "Angel," I nod.

We talk for hours afterwards. I am certain he has been pointed towards his destiny and he will waste no time in commencing down the right path. For the first time in years, I feel a spark of hope, and I am joyful I was able to play a part in this.

I go back to England a changed man. I am done being the vanguard of fighting evil. I have been replaced. Another purpose awaits me. These are not my times. I feel I have lived too long and I do not fit into this world anymore. I have never felt more out of place, and I welcome my new destiny.

_2003 - Cotswolds, England _

I have been Guardian of the Deeper Well for nearly seventy years now and I have not seen Marcus or heard from him since he left Galway. I have kept a watchful eye on his endeavours however, but two months ago Marcus seemed to have vanished from this Earth and I have not been able to find him ever since. I can feel he is not dead, but I fear he is forever lost to our cause. Yet not a day passes that I do not think of him. My thoughts run in circles. I cannot leave the Well; it cannot remain unguarded while I seek out my brother.

The Well is where the Old Ones lie. Old Ones are Demons, pure. They walked the Earth before humankind. Each and every one of them still has acolytes somewhere on this Earth. My absence would not go unnoticed and I would be robbed of my charges. This would cause the world to be overrun with demons, slaughtering mankind and enslaving those who survive. I cannot let that happen, even though my heart aches more than ever to find Marcus and convince him of the error of his ways.

I believe it was pre-destined that the sarcophagus of one of my charges, Illyria, escaped from the Well. I do not know how it was able to disappear, but it has. I worry about this and it consumes my thoughts. This is something I welcome, for it keeps my mind occupied and I do not think of Marcus. Seeing as Illyria will cause many problems as soon as it is released from its prison, I expect visitors shortly.

By now I have grown wary of questions, for a lie is sometimes far more preferable than the truth I am forced to tell. Because of this, I do not look forward to having company, although mine is a solitary life. I know that Illyria's escape will prompt questions I am not able to answer. Nor do I desire to explain to my visitors that Illyria cannot be drawn back to the Deeper Well without sacrificing thousands of others. I fear for the world, but I know she is quite harmless. Her armies have faded eons upon eons ago.

It is not surprising to hear my guards charging intruders. I make my way over to the entrance of the Well, and it _is_ surprising to see the identity of my visitors. It is Angel, and the vampire accompanying him is William the Bloody, also known as Spike. I have heard about the vampire's quest to gain his soul and I admire the strength he has shown, for I know the trials he faced were complicated and torturous. A vampire choosing to fight for good and seeking out his soul is a true champion indeed.

I emerge from the gateway guarded by the tree and I hear Angel speak.

"Is that all? We haven't even started!" Angel boasts. I suppress a woeful smile at the sight. He is very much like my brother.

"I would say that's enough," I make my presence known.

Angel looks at me in surprise. "Drogyn."

"Angel," I greet him.

"You're the keeper of the well," Angel states the obvious.

I nod. "Have been for decades."

"Well, who in the bloody-" Spike begins. Because of my assessment of Spike, it is startling to find out he has a bold and insolent personality. It irks me to no end.

"Do not ask me a question. If you ever ask me a single question, I will kill you outright. Do not think for a moment that I cannot," I interrupt him angrily. I regret losing my temper for a moment until I hear Angel speak again.

"He can. He would," Angel tells Spike, pride evident in his voice. I tilt my head to observe Angel. He has come to terms with his destiny and once again accepts me as an elder. My hearts swells at the sight of the man that he has become. I ignore Spike's comment and come to the point.

"You're here about Illyria," I assume.

Upon Angel's affirmation, I invite the two men into the Well. "Walk in."

Spike does not relent. "But how-"

"I just said to you, not one moment ago, do not ask," I once again interrupt the impudent blonde vampire. I walk over to the entrance of the Deeper Well. Behind me, I hear them engage in muffled conversation.

"Seriously. He doesn't like questions," Angel explains.

Spike insists on a further explanation, as I knew he would. "Why the bloody hell not?"

I rely on Angel to unfold what bothers me so, and he does not disappoint me. "He can't lie."

I lead the way into the Deeper Well, holding a torch. Angel and Spike follow in my wake.

Longing to find out how the man I became reacquainted with sixty-eight years ago had fared, I attempt to make conversation. "I would never have thought you would end up here, Angel," I start.

"I could say the same," Angel replies, his face an unreadable mask. I can tell he does not want to elaborate, so I refrain from asking further questions.

"So, you two know each other," Spike interferes. I glare at him for his interruption; he misunderstands me. He quickly adds, "That was a statement. I already know that you do."

"I'll tell you as much as I can. The Old Ones were demons pure. They warred as we would breathe; endlessly. The greater ones were interred, for death was not always their end. Illyria was feared and beloved as few are. It was laid to death in the very depths of the Well, until it disappeared a month ago," I tell them.

"Someone took it from under your nose a month ago, and you didn't miss it 'til now? That makes you quite the crap jailer, doesn't it," Spike remarks insolently. I do not appreciate his insult and I narrow my eyes at him. Once again, he misunderstands and clarifies, "Also a statement."

Spike is wearisome. I turn to Angel. "Your friend likes to talk."

"So much, he's even right sometimes. The man I remember couldn't be stolen from so easily," Angel replies curtly. I am slightly happy he remembers me as someone difficult to overtake, for this indicates he is reverting to be more and more like Liam. However, he is wrong in his assumption.

"The tomb was not stolen. It disappeared. I believe it was pre-destined to as part of Illyria's escape plan. And as for my not noticing, well, my charges are not few," I explain and show them what being the Guardian of the Deeper Well actually comprises.

Understanding dawns on Spike's features. "Bloody hell," he softly utters.

"How far does this go down?" Angel wonders.

"All the way. All the way through the Earth," I reply evenly.

Angel tries to grasp this and gathering his thoughts, he summarizes, "So, the coffin disappeared, teleported, but it was brought to us."

"Illyria was a great power; so great that, after millions of years dead, somewhere on this Earth it still has acolytes." Suddenly a suspicion grates at me. I am not certain that Angel understands the direness of his situation, so I continue. "It's been freed. The demon's essence."

"Yeah, it's been freed. Why do you think we're here?" Spike asks rhetorically. Upon my glance in his direction he goes into a tirade, which I find mildly amusing. "And what's your favorite color? What's your favorite song? Who's the goalkeeper for Manchester United? And how many fingers am I holdin' up? You wanna kill me? Try. But I don't have time for your quirks."

I grudgingly admit to myself that the vampire is right and that time is of the essence. Refusing to address Spike, I turn to Angel. "The power to draw back Illyria lies in there. It requires a champion who has travelled from where it lies to where it belongs."

"You got two of those right here," Angel answers curtly.

I sigh. This is a sorrowful task but I have to convey to them that there is no possible solution to their predicament. "But I did not know it was free. If we bring the sarcophagus back to the well, it will draw Illyria out of your friend... and into every single person between here and there. It will become the mystical equivalent of airborne. It will claw into every soul in its path to keep from being trapped. Entire cities, tens maybe hundreds of thousands will die in agony if you save her."

The pain etched on their faces is truly heartbreaking. I dearly wish I could have been the bearer of better tidings. I feel I have betrayed Liam yet again by denying him the chance to save his friend.

"No," Angel utters, walking to the edge of the bridge to peer down into the Well.

At the same time, Spike sounds out, "That's madness."

I agree with him. There is just one more difficult task ahead of me; I have to grant Angel and Spike the opportunity to make the choice themselves. This is not a choice I can make for them, however hard this will be for them to bear. I trust Angel will choose according to his purpose. "This is a place of madness. I shall prepare the spell. Your choice."

I leave the inner chamber of the Well and retreat to my quarters where I busy myself with gathering supplies. It does not take long for Angel to follow me there. His expression tells me he desperately longs to choose his friend over thousands of others, but knows he can't.

"We're leaving," he announces. "Thanks, Drogyn."

I do not know why I deserve gratitude, for I was the one supposed to be guarding those interred in the Well, instead of allowing Illyria to escape and infect an innocent woman. Even so, I nod and say goodbye. After a moment's hesitation, I walk over to him and offer him my deepest sympathy. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes but he does not allow them.

"Goodbye Drogyn."

After Angel and Spike leave, I sit in my quarters and reflect on my very long life. To me, the mistakes I have made along the way stand out. In no way do the lives of innocents I have saved negate them. I am ashamed and do not feel worthy of my eternal life and the existence as Battlebrand I have been granted. My thoughts persistently travel back to Marcus.

It is now that I reach a decision. My life without Marcus has not been that of a hero. To truly find purpose in the fight against evil I need my brother as an ally. I do not function properly without him. It is time I admit this. My existence has been filled with doubts and faltering faith since he was lost to me.

It is time to find Marcus.


	4. Chapter 4

_2003 - Los Angeles, America_

Another problem has presented itself, thus barring me from embarking on my quest to seek out Marcus. It seems that Angel has been corrupted by the power presented to him by the source of all evil on Earth. The Wolf, the Ram and the Hart. My confidants speak of a secret inner circle named the Circle of the Black Thorn. It is this circle that has caught Angel's attention, and he appears to have applied for membership.

This places Illyria's escape in a different light entirely. I now believe that Angel has planned her escape because the Circle required a sacrifice of a loved one. The woman Illyria infected with her essence fits that description.

There is another reason I believe that Angel, whom I love dearly and have held an ally, is responsible for Illyria's escape. Upon my arrival in the New World, where I have travelled in search of Marcus, I was beset by assassins. They were perhaps unaware of my identity, for I was able to kill four of them and capture the fifth. Faced with my wrath the demon filth confessed to being sent by Angel to murder me. I can only assume this was an ill-conceived attempt to silence me before I could notify anyone about my suspicions.

It is devastating to me to learn once again that one I held so dear has swayed from his path. I fear that soon the balance in the world will be disturbed and there will be no turning back from that. I have to try my best to prevent that from happening, even if it entails striking down Liam. Angel.

As so many men suddenly gaining access to such power, Angel underestimated my ability to slay his assassins. Though I am badly beaten, I am here in this dank alley, seeking out Spike. I fear the insolent vampire may be the only one capable of assisting me in taking down Angel. I stand in the shadows and wait. It is not long until Spike and another figure appear.

"Mark me. He will murder one of you," a female voice assures Spike. Apparently, I am not the only one who suspects Angel has strayed from the just path. I step out of my hiding place.

"Actually, he already has," I tell Spike, who is clearly surprised to see me.

"Drogyn?" Spike asks incredulously. The figure walking with him approaches me to look closer.

"Who is this?" She speaks in clipped tones and her appearance is not entirely of this world.

"The Guardian of the Deeper Well. Greenskeeper of your graveyard, so to speak," Spike offers, confirming my suspicions about this woman's identity.

"My jailer," she speaks with contempt.

"Illyria..." I start. Before I can speak my mind, Spike distracts me.

"Boretz," he remarks, looking at a point just above my head. As he utters the word, another one of the assassin demons assaults me. Spike attempts to fight him off but does not succeed. The creature throws him away as though he weighs nothing. Illyria steps in and defeats the Boretz within seconds. Spike, unfazed, walks over to me.

"Drogyn. What the hell are you doing here? Oh, don't give me your 'ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies' bugaboo," he asks in his typically impudent way.

"I came to find you," I answer him.

"Oh, so you tacked up a sign on your tree, waved bye to the Keeblers, hopped the puddle, and somehow managed to sniff me out in a city of 10 million?" Spike inquires further.

"I can find anyone who's visited the well... be they in this world or any other. I... I came to... to warn you..." I manage to croak out. The demon's poison is taking its toll on my constitution. I will restore to full health soon, but at this moment I am weak and I collapse.

"Warn?" Spike still does not understand.

"He's bleeding." Illyria states emotionless. She looks upon me with disdain.

"You're all torn up, mate. What did this to you, the Boretz, was it?" It is time I inform Spike of my findings and enlist his help in bringing down the man I once believed to be a warrior for good.

"No. It was Angel."

Spike and Illyria take me to Spike's lodgings, a dark apartment somewhere in the heart of the city. They gather Angel's closest and dearest to hear my tale.

After I have unfolded all I know about the series of events that have lead me here, there is an uncomfortable silence. I can tell the men have been worrying about Angel, even before the evidence of his betrayal was presented to them. They show me a strange drawing and ask me if I recognize it. I do not.

The men decide to confront Angel with their newfound knowledge and I am left at Spike's apartment. I am guarded by Illyria, for by this time Angel may have found out about his failure to assassinate me. In that case, it is all too possible he might try again, with more deadly a force this time. I will need all the help I can acquire, even if it means I have to cooperate with a being that was interred millions of years ago and was never supposed to arise again.

Spike has gracefully allowed us to consider his house a home. Illyria and I amuse ourselves with an assignment on a television screen. I do not own a television in the Deeper Well, but I have heard of such a thing and it is a wondrous experience to see moving images across the screen.

"It is a test, a task of some sort. You must collect those crystals. And the fruit," I finally discover.

"Why?" Illyria asks, not impressed by my discovery. I turn to her and speak my mind.

"Old one... you have no right to walk this Earth. Your time is past. You belong to the Well," I attempt to broach the subject as gently as I can, for Illyria is not the unbearable evil I thought her to be.

"Truly. I wish now I had never been brought out of it," she answers, her voice flat but her features filled with sadness.

"Do you?" Her quick acquiescence worries me.

"I don't know. I play this game... it's pointless and annoys me... and yet, I'm compelled to play on. Does that not-" Her words are interrupted by a thunderous sound. The entrance door to Spike's apartment is being completely annihilated. Both Illyria and I stand up in alarm.

I am utterly shocked. The man stepping over the remnants of Spike's door and casually dusting himself off is Marcus.

Marcus. Seeing him this unexpectedly has shaken me to the very core of my being. I can see the shock in his eyes before he composes himself and regains his posture.

"Well, looky, looky who's making friends," Marcus scoffs.

"Marcus," I acknowledge his presence.

"Dro, how have you been?" Marcus inquires mockingly. Pain sears through me, until I recognize the look in his eyes. It harbours the same hurt and grief I so often feel. Marcus is coming apart. This provides me with an opportunity to reclaim him from evil and have him fight at my side once again.

Illyria interrupts my thoughts. "You're acquainted with this creature?" For the first time, her voice speaks volumes.

"Yes. We go way back, don't we?" Marcus attempts to diminish our history together and I will not stand for that.

"Too far," I state defiantly. His mannerisms and cultured nonchalant voice are irksome. I find I can barely control my temper, but I have to. He must cope with his choices, and I cannot risk the chance of alienating him further and consequently losing him forever.

"Hmm, the good old days. So I hear you're living in a tree now," Marcus tries to anger me.

"The tree is the entrance to the Deeper Well. I live in a cave. It's really quite pleasant," I reply politely.

"I'm sure it's a peach. Afraid you won't be returning to it again." As I have begun to expect, Marcus has been sent here to capture me. Seeing as Marcus did not bring a blade, there will be no beheading in the near future. I consider my options. Since Marcus and I are equals in strength, I stand a fair chance. However, if I defeat Marcus I forfeit my only opportunity to penetrate into the Circle. I decide to let Marcus beat me down, so I will be brought into the Circle's quarters.

"You will not harm him," Illyria stands up to Marcus. She is an Old One, yet she has not the slightest notion of what strength Battlebrands possess. I fear for her.

"Oh, you mean like this?" Marcus gloats, while throwing me forcefully into the wall behind me. It has been a good long while since I have encountered someone with equal strength to mine, and so I am taken aback by the sheer force of his attack.

Illyria fights Marcus, but she cannot match his strength. Her blows do not faze him, nor do her kicks. He throws her across the room, but she stands again.

"Hang on Dro, this'll just take a second," Marcus addresses me. His voice is steady to the ears of strangers, but I hear his resolve wavering.

The Old One charges at Marcus again, drawing on every ounce of strength she possesses. Marcus easily avoids her attacks; his blows weakening her with every strike. Marcus is now in distress, as his excessive violence towards Illyria indicates. While he pummels her, he is venting his anger. Illyria is not the focus point of his anger; she is merely a punching bag to him. I suspect Marcus is angry with me for reminding him of what he was, or at himself for allowing this course of events. This is the hope I have to cling to.

Illyria has been beaten down. Marcus reaches for me and I pretend to be nearly unconscious. I cannot tell a single lie, yet it is in my power to deceive by looks. Slinging me over his shoulder, he walks out the door. After a while he deposits me on a cold concrete floor. He binds my wrists and ankles with regular rope. I am certain he must be aware of the fact this rope cannot hold me for even one second if I attempt to break free. What he is trying to accomplish with this I do not know. Marcus leaves and I open my eyes to take in my surroundings.

Something is not right. My intuition is gnawing at my mind and I reassess all the information known to me. It takes me some time to see where my reasoning is flawed. I have ignored the fact that I know Liam's soul, and that he would never seek access to evil powers unless he were attempting to strike them down. Based on this assumption, I continue my reasoning.

What if Illyria's escape were but an unfortunate coincidence and not the sacrifice of a loved one? What if Angel had sent the assassins after me, knowing I would discover it was he who sent them? Angel is aware of my inability to tell lies. Had he come to me with this and were I to fall prey to the Circle, I would have been forced to betray Angel's plans. If I truly believed Angel had set out to murder me and was about to sell his soul to evil, I could not give him away.

The longer I think about this, the more it seems likely. Angel knows about my strength and my skill as a fighter. Why would he send a mere five ordinary demons to murder me? Then another thought strikes me. Angel must be aware of Marcus' identity. Although Liam was but a child when Marcus left, my brother has not aged at all. Liam's features are eternally twenty-six, but they have changed a great deal in sixteen years. It is entirely plausible that Marcus is not abreast of Angel being Liam, the boy from Galway. This settles it. I decide to act my part, and for the first time in centuries I call upon Eanfrith.

She is not pleased with my long absence from her folds, but she grants me an audience on behalf of the time I have served her well. As I unfold my story, she is joyful to learn that Marcus and I have been reunited, albeit not yet fighting on the side of good. She vows to do anything in her power to assist in my plan, and I am relieved to be able to rely on her cooperation.

After many wakeful hours spent mapping out a strategy, I am dragged to my feet by four armed men. They cover my head with a burlap sack and lead me through long corridors. Our footsteps make hollow sounds, and by this I know we are in a large building. This must be the Circle's quarters. I am nearly at full strength again and so I have to remind myself to remain docile and act as though I am severely weakened. My appearance is deceiving. From experience, I know that the outer shell of my body takes longer to heal than it takes for my strength to return to me. This is the first time I bless that discrepancy.

I have to trust that the Circle is not aware of my destiny as Battlebrand. Never in my eternal life have I been closer to death. If any of the Circle's members knows about my identity, nothing separates me from oblivion but the swift swing of a blade.

I am forced to kneel and wait while I am beaten upon with sticks.

I do not have to wait long. A man enters the room. It is not Marcus, but his presence feels familiar. Angel. He hauls me up and removes the sack that covers my eyes. I search his eyes for a sign that I was right in my assumptions and I find it in the infinite sadness that darkens them.

"Thank you. Thank you." I utter the words as though it strains me to even speak. These words are meant to convey my collaboration. At the same time, I thank him for guiding me to Marcus.

Angel's face contorts into his vampiric features and he sinks his fangs into my neck. This is far more painful than I had thought it to be and I cannot help but groan in pain. Angel takes my blood and then releases me. His hands reach for my neck and suddenly I know what is coming. I brace myself for the force that will snap my spine. Briefly I wonder how much time a broken neck will take to heal, but then I am distracted by the sound of my bones breaking. Unexpectedly, this is not painful at all.

Angel drops me to the floor and I feign being dead. My body is carried away by the same men that have brought me to this room. After a while they lay me down in what seems like an abandoned warehouse. It is straining me to keep my breathing shallow, but I can feel my spine already healing itself. The men light a torch; their intention is now clear to me. I can only hope that the men will leave before the fire consumes me.

They do. I break free from my bonds easily and I walk out of the building. I have to find Marcus before Angel kills him.

Closing my eyes I concentrate on feeling Marcus' soul through the din of the city. It takes mere moments to seek it out, and I can feel Marcus' agony rising with every beat of our hearts. My brother is at a breaking point. I have to be there when he breaks.

My senses guide me to the building where the Wolf, Ram and the Hart reside. Cautiously I enter the building, shielding myself from the eyes of onlookers. I hear the sounds of a struggle not too far away and I soundlessly move myself in that direction. Hiding behind a large wooden structure remotely reminding me of a desk, I watch Marcus and Angel fight.

It occurs to me that Angel truly believes Marcus to be evil. I do not hold it against him; he has no reason to believe otherwise. I do not yet notice a blade of some sort, but I will not hesitate to intervene if such is the case. I cannot and will not sacrifice my brother.

Angel and Marcus are so much alike. Were it not for the dire and grim situation, their banter would have brought a smile to my face. Neither one is about to back down from the fight they both know is going to ensue.

Marcus throws Angel across the room. He hits a pillar and crumbles to the ground. Still, he stands and charges at Marcus again. Marcus is spitting out words that tell me he is having difficulty focusing on his task. The evil that he has done has taken its toll on him and he is nearly ready to be a Battlebrand again. My focus turns back to the fight.

"I figured you were the one I needed to be alone with." This confirms my fear; Angel is truly convinced killing Marcus is necessary.

"Why?" Marcus asks, genuinely surprised. "So I could kill you?"

"Well, I thought the fight would be going a little better," Angel admits.

Marcus once again hurls Angel across the building. As Angel stands up, Marcus is already there to pummel him. Even so, Angel does not go down.

Desperation creeps into Marcus' voice. "Why do you keep fighting? You signed away your Shanshu. There's nothing in it for you anymore."

Angel lashes out at Marcus. "People who don't care about anything will never understand the people who do."

This angers Marcus thoroughly and the reason for this suddenly dawns on me. Marcus does still care. Marcus has never ceased caring; he has only stopped being able to cope. I do not need to force him to care, I only need to offer my time and love to heal his soul. My brother uses his full strength to send Angel flying across the room. "Yeah, but we won't care." Even from this distance I see that this is not true. Had he not given up his Battlebrand destiny, he would not have been able to let this lie escape his mouth.

Marcus is blinded with rage and comes straight towards me. I breathe a sigh of relief when he takes a stake from the wooden desk behind which I am hiding. My relief is short-lived however as I realize Marcus is about to kill Angel in a fit of fury. My brother will be lost to me entirely if he learns he is responsible for the death of Liam. I cannot allow this.

Before I can come out of my hiding place, Marcus is flung off of Angel by a child. I do not recognize this child, nor do I care at this point. The child seems to be some sort of acquaintance of Angel's and they both charge at Marcus. Because of Marcus' wavering resolve, this worries me.

Marcus fights on effortlessly. Suddenly I feel a change in the atmosphere and it takes me moments to realize it is Marcus' soul that screams at me. Observing him carefully and prepared to intervene at any time, I watch him walk up to Angel and straighten his clothes.

"Let me say this as clearly as I can. You cannot beat me. I am a part of them. The Wolf, Ram, and Hart. Their strength flows through my veins. My blood is filled with their ancient power." The mere mention of blood in the presence of a vampire is not a wise decision and I wonder what Marcus attempts to achieve by this. Unsure of the right course of action, I decide to wait until I can decipher his intentions.

Angel stands up and smiles evilly. "Can you pick out the one word there you probably shouldn't have said?" His features contort into his vampire face and he attacks Marcus. Instead of hurling Angel across the room again, Marcus allows the vampire to drink from him. I realize Marcus is attempting to have Angel kill him, so that he can escape this existence. I stand, preparing to separate them. Neither of the men notice me.

Angel charges at Marcus again. My brother does fight back, but he uses but a tenth of the strength he possesses. I notice the change in his posture as Marcus makes peace with his fate. He is beaten down, and yet Angel continues to pummel him. Clenching my fists, I wait for Angel to reach for a sword in order to behead Marcus. I cannot allow that.

A loud crack tells me Angel has broken Marcus' neck. As Angel looks down at him lying unconscious, I see sorrow flash over his face. He does not take out a sword to sever Marcus' head. Angel turns to the child and assures the boy that Marcus has died.

I am not certain if Angel is aware that only beheading can kill us. Nor do I presume to know whether Angel is reluctant to kill Marcus because of the history they share. My thoughts return to more urgent matters when the building starts coming apart and crumbling to the ground.

"Wolfram & Hart. Looks like they're taking the gloves off," Angel suspects. I watch Angel and the child exchange words indicating that Angel thinks the end is nigh. Angel voices his concern for the child and prompts the boy to go home. Then the boy leaves, and Angel stands in the room for a second until he too straightens and leaves.

I make my way over to Marcus and kneel at his side. He is hurt very badly; my own beating pales in comparison to the brute force Angel has used on him. I put my hand on his head, but he is unconscious and does not respond. I am not worried. Marcus has always healed very fast, and I am here to tend to him.

I carry him to Spike's apartment, assuming the blonde vampire will not need it at a time like this. The heat is rising in the streets of Los Angeles, and a murmur is steadily growing louder. This will be an epic battle.

Marcus is coming to. His eyes open and he looks around uncomprehending. I move myself into his line of sight and watch him as he notices me. I will grant him a moment to mend, but I am determined to regain him to our purpose. I do not fear; there is no doubt in my heart that Marcus is no longer lost to me. Together we shall crush the demon rebellion that threatens this city.

For we are Battlebrands.

**Fin**


End file.
